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BRAIN LANDSCAPE

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BRAIN
LANDSCAPE
The Coexistance of
Neuroscience and
Architecture
JOHN PAUL EBERHARD
Founding President
The Academy of Neuroscience for Architecture
San Diego, California
1
2009

1
Oxford University Press, Inc., publishes works that further
Oxford University’s objective of excellence
in research, scholarship, and education.
Oxford New York
Auckland Cape Town Dar es Salaam Hong Kong Karachi
Kuala Lumpur Madrid Melbourne Mexico City Nairobi
New Delhi Shanghai Taipei Toronto
With ofﬁ ces in
Argentina Austria Brazil Chile Czech Republic France Greece
Guatemala Hungary Italy Japan Poland Portugal Singapore
South Korea Switzerland Thailand Turkey Ukraine Vietnam
Copyright © 2009 by John Paul Eberhard
Published by Oxford University Press, Inc.
198 Madison Avenue, New York, New York 10016
www.oup.com
Oxford is a registered trademark of Oxford University Press
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,
stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means,
electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise,
without the prior permission of Oxford University Press.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Eberhard, John Paul
Brain landscape : the coexistence of neuroscience and architecture / John Paul Eberhard.
p. ; cm.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN: 978–0-19–533172–1
1. Neurosciences. 2. Architecture. 3. Space perception—Physiological aspects. I. Title.
[DNLM: 1. Brain—physiology. 2. Architecture as Topic—methods.
3. Environment Design. 4. Esthetics—psychology. 5. Neurosciences—methods.
6. Space Perception—physiology. WL 300 E154b 2009]
RC343.E24 2009
616.8—dc22
2008012834
1 3 5 7 9 8 6 4 2
Printed in the United States of America
on acid-free paper

Dedicated to Jonas Salk,
whose wisdom created the
opportunity for me to explore
neuroscience

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Acknowledgments
T
his book is the result of a number of events in my life that led to me
becoming the only architectural member of the Society for Neurosci-
ence. As indicated in the autobiographical material in Chapter 1, I was
recruited by Norman Koonce and Syl Damianos in 1995 to become the
director of discovery of the American Architectural Foundation in Wash-
ington, D.C. The idea had been stimulated by Jonas Salk’s proposal to the
foundation that someone in the architectural world should be looking at
human experiences with architecture from a scientiﬁ c viewpoint. This led
me to many years of study of neuroscience research.
In 2003, the San Diego chapter of the American Institute of Architects
(AIA) asked me to help them form the Academy of Neuroscience for
Architects (ANFA). Alison Whitelaw was especially important in spear-
heading this effort.
In 2006, thanks to encouragement from Jim Cramer, CEO of Greenway
Communications, his Ostberg Library of Design Management published
my book Architecture and the Brain.
In the same year, Craig Panner, senior editor, Neuroscience and Neurol-
ogy, for Oxford University Press, arranged a contract for me to write this
book. I am grateful to Craig for his wisdom in seeing the value of a book
like this to the neuroscience community, as well as the general public.

viii
He has provided many hours of constructive editing to my manuscript as
it has progressed from concept to content. My other two editors are my
wife, Lois (who actually could be considered my coauthor), and my daughter,
Barbara, who is a professional editor as well as marketing manager for a
large corporation.
Sections of the book have been written by Fred (Rusty) Gage from the
Salk Institute; Gordon Chong, current president of ANFA and a national
leader in architecture; John Zeisel, a colleague and pioneer in the behavioral
sciences; Bonnie Albert, a colleague from my years at the State University of
New York at Buffalo, and an authority on Chinese architecture; and Melissa
Farling, a colleague and research associate in ANFA (who assisted me in
writing about professional practice). Tom Albright from the Salk Institute
and Terry Phillips from National Institutes of Health have provided
consulting services on technical aspects of some chapters. To all of
these friends and colleagues, I owe a large debt of gratitude. Anything said
correctly in my text is to their credit, and anything incorrect is due to my
own limitations.
Acknowledgments

FOREWORD
From the Perspective of an Architect
GORDON CHONG
We know as architects that the ability to measure human response to
environmental stimuli still requires more years of work. We are pleased
that neuroscience is beginning to provide us with an understanding of
how the brain controls all of our bodily activities and ultimately affects
how we think, move, perceive, learn and remember.

x
Even before architecture was ﬁ rst recognized as a profession over 150 years
ago, architects have been referred to as master builders, implying knowl-
edge and leadership in multiple facets of the process of designing a build-
ing. In contemporary practice, there are ﬁ ve basic stages of architectural
services, which allocate the architect’s effort: schematic design (15%),
design development (20%), construction documents (40%), bidding
(5%), and constructions administration (20%). This framework strongly
affects the process of how modern buildings are created. The modern
architect focuses on the process of design: problem solving during design
development, creating computer drawings during documentation, and
delivery methods during construction administration. Approximately
85% of architectural services are oriented toward deﬁ ning how a building
should be built. The most recent primary advances in the profession have
been in computer technology. Computer-aided design and building informa-
tion modeling are major advances that have changed and improved the way
architects deliver projects. However, they do not address the questions of
what to design nor why we should design a given project.
Now, in the ﬁ rst decade of the 21st century, there is a great opportunity
to achieve a better balance and integration between the issues of how
architects design and what and why they should design. Profoundly critical
issues, such as global warming, energy conservation, and the need for build-
ings that reduce our carbon footprint, begin to responsibly deﬁ ne how,
what, and why we design buildings and other built environments. This is
a welcome rebalancing of the role architects play to enhance the quality
of our communities and the world.
Additionally, for new construction projects charged with meeting
needs of health, rapid advances in scientiﬁ c discovery are signiﬁ cantly
inﬂ uencing education, housing, and workplace environments. Given that
a large majority of an individual’s time is spent in built environments, the
need for a greater understanding of human response to environmental
stimuli inextricably links design to scientiﬁ c research. The promise is that
architects and scientists will collaborate more to determine what we build
and why it will enhance the human experience.
Following the 20th-century advances in computer technology, the
21st century is heralded by many as the era of biological discovery.
Foreword

xi
Not coincidentally, technological advances such as functional magnetic
resonance imaging and computational neuroscience have made possible
greater understanding of the brain. As in any pioneering effort, there is a
high level of excitement. However, neuroscientists are quick to caution
that adequate knowledge is not yet available to substantively inform
design decisions as evidence based.
Nonetheless, one cannot resist thinking “what if?” while pondering
exciting new possibilities. Can we be predictive of human response? Can
we use neuroscience to establish a framework for design decision making?
In turn, can our environments enhance the quality of life linked to scien-
tiﬁ c outcomes, such as reduction of stress, reduction of chronic disease
linked to stress, enhanced mental acuity, increased cognition, prolonged
worker productivity, enhanced spiritual and emotional response, reduced
episodes of depression, and even increased longevity? Those of us in the
design profession strongly believe that thoughtfully informed and designed
environments can contribute to these desirable scientiﬁ c outcomes. Can we
prove it? How will we know what, and even how much, we contribute?
To engage in this new frontier, architects will have the opportunity to
expand their creative, intuitive approaches to design with an increased
ability to collaborate with the sciences. This could well lead to a redeﬁ nition of
how knowledge is gained and shared through a culture of research as well as
design practice. This will not be easy to accomplish. As with all explorations,
there will be missteps, inconclusive evidence, contradictory results, slower than
desired progress, and of course, naysayers of change. Fortunately, we will also
enjoy incremental advances, new client and marketplace demands, and aca-
demic advocacy that will encourage new interdisciplinary models of practice.
Publication of Brain Landscape by John P. Eberhard is a major step for-
ward into this new frontier. As in his earlier book, Architecture of the Brain,
Eberhard never relinquishes his role as an architect, a master builder.
Rather, he has become more expansive in his vision and more integrative
in his thinking as he masterminds a bridge between the seemingly sepa-
rate professions of architecture and neuroscience.
Foreword
Gordon Chong, FAIA, is the past president of the AIA as well as current president (2007)
of ANFA

FOREWORD
From the Perspective of a Neuroscientist
FRED H. GAGE
John Eberhard has written a book to challenge neuroscientists to study
how architecture affects the brain. His goal, though, is to open a dialogue
between architects and neuroscientists, and this book will be at least as
useful to the architects as it is to the neuroscientists. So this foreword is
meant for the general audience that I expect this book to reach.
Neuroscience is the study of the brain, and neuroscientists believe
that the brain is the organ that controls behavior. The brain is composed
of areas that control vision, somatic sensory experiences, and motor out-
put, as well as areas that help us navigate through novel environments.
A view of the Salk Institute.

xiii
The principal cell of the brain is a neuron, and there are something on the
order of 100 billion neurons in the human brain, joined by 100 trillion
connections. In addition to these neurons, the brain is made up of many
different types of cells that interact with each other to allow us to perceive
and think.
In the past, the dominant theory of adult brain function encouraged
us to think of the brain as a ﬁ xed structure, an organ that in many ways
is more like a computer than a biological structure. The brain, like other
tissues, is generated based on a blueprint. Much as architects work with
blueprints to build structures, our body and brain tissues are built on a
blueprint, a genetic blueprint, beginning with DNA. Within every cell is
the DNA complement that can make all the functional proteins that are
required for that cell and the brain to function. Within every cell of the
brain, this genetic material continues to make proteins and functions
throughout life.
A major component of this early theory of brain function was that the
changes that occur in the brain happen during development. Each of us
develops from a single fertilized cell into a fully functional organism. That
growth and development are predicated in our DNA blueprint. However,
we also know that the development of the brain from early stages to a full-
grown organ is dramatically inﬂ uenced by environment. Thus, although
the blueprint is active from birth, in deﬁ ning the basic elements structure,
the environment plays a very important role in the ﬁ nal product.
For many years, neuroscientists believed that once the mature postado-
lescent brain had been formed, it was ﬁ xed and immutable. One of our
early neuroscience heroes, Ramon y Cajal, described it in this way: “Once
development was ended, the fonts of growth and regeneration of axons
and dendrites, which are the processes of our neurons, dried up irrevoca-
bly. In adult centers, the nerve paths are something ﬁ xed and immutable;
everything may die, nothing may be regenerated.”
This view of the ﬁ xed, immutable structure of the brain caused us to
think about the brain as a computer. Recently, however, this dogma of the
static nature of the brain has been challenged. It is now becoming clearer
that the existing neurons are more “plastic” then previously believed. The
Foreword

xiv
connections between neurons can be increased or decreased based on
experience, and even the total number of neurons can change in certain
areas of the brain due to changes in experience and physical interaction
with the environment. This change in brain structure in response to envi-
ronmental changes is greatest during development, but surprisingly and
remarkably, this environmentally induced structural plasticity continues
throughout life in all mammals.
In summary, the brain controls our behavior, and genes control the
blueprint for the design and structure of the brain, but the environment
can modulate the function of genes and, ultimately, the structure of our
brain. Changes in the environment change the brain and therefore can
change our behavior.
What does all this information about neuroscience have to do with
architecture? I contend that architectural design can change our brains
and behavior. The structures in the environment—the houses we live in,
the areas we play in, the buildings we work in—affect our brains and our
brains affects our behavior. By designing the structures we live in, archi-
tects are affecting our brains. The different spaces in which we live and
work are changing our brain structures and our behaviors, and this has
been going on for a long time. John’s book will open a dialogue between
architects and neuroscientists to begin to determine how these different
disciplines can work together to understand and improve the impact of
space on the brain and our lives. This dialogue is a needed ﬁ rst step, and
it will require participation of both neuroscientists and the architects;
importantly, these two groups need a translator or they need to learn a
new language to have this dialogue. This book should provide a founda-
tion to assist both groups to speak together.
Fred H. Gage is professor and Vi and John Adler Chair for Research on Age-Related
Neurodegenerative Diseases at the Laboratory of Genetics of the Salk Institute.
Foreword

C
. P. Snow in his well-known book Two Cultures says, “Constantly
I felt that I was moving among two groups—comparable in intelli-
gence, identical in race, not grossly different in social origin, earning
about the same income, who had almost ceased to communicate at all.
Who in this intellectual, moral, and psychological climate had practically
nothing in common.” He was speaking in broad terms about scientists and
artists. In this book, I want to speak about a way of providing common
cause between two speciﬁ c and important groups: (1) the architectural
community that creates designs for the buildings in which we spend more
than 90% of our lives and (2) the neuroscience community that has
focused on understanding how the brain and the mind have evolved to
provide us with an ability to experience the world around us.
Both groups at their best provide us with beauty: one with a beauty
expressed in physical terms that we perceive with our senses and use to
shelter the activities of our lives; the other with the inner beauty of the
mind and the beginnings of understanding how the mind comprehends
and why the body experiences pain and pleasure. We need both. Each
stands on the brink of understanding the other. The hope is that this book
can stimulate intellectual links that will enrich us all.
Preface

xvi
As Professor Lord Porter said in his Second Athenaeum Lecture in
London in 1998, “The scientist and the artist have much in common;
both strive for originality through imagination; each tries to make a new
statement and each hopes that the statement will be in some way accept-
able to others. The fundamental difference between them is the type of
statement that is made.”
This difference is described by Nobel Laureate Herbert Simon in his
bookThe Sciences of the Artiﬁ cial (1996), “Historically and traditionally, it
has been the task of the science disciplines to teach about natural things:
how they are and how they work. It has been the task of engineering
schools [read architecture] to teach about artiﬁ cial things: how to make
artifacts that have desired properties and how to design them.”
In organizing possible intellectual links, I have chosen to use the term
framework proposed by Francis Crick and Christof Koch (1997). A frame-
work is not a detailed hypothesis or set of hypotheses; rather, it is a sug-
gested point of view for an attack on a scientiﬁ c problem, often suggesting
testable hypotheses. A good framework, they suggest, is one that sounds
reasonably plausible relative to available scientiﬁ c data and turns out to
be largely correct. (It is unlikely to be correct in all the details.) The
framework often contains unstated (and unrecognized) assumptions, but
this is unavoidable.
For general readers, this book provides an insight into ideas not previ-
ously contemplated. For the architectural community, I show exciting
new possibilities for expanding our knowledge base by increasing the
range of evidence-based design criteria. For the neuroscience community,
I challenge scientists to begin exploring these new research horizons as a
way of expanding future opportunities for newly minted doctorates and
postdoctoral students.
Preface

Contents
Introduction 1
Chapter 1 Three Approaches to Consciousness 25
Chapter 2 Neuroscience and the Design of Educational Places 46
Chapter 3 Vision and Light in Architectural Settings 68
Chapter 4 Memorials, Sacred Places, and Memory 89
Chapter 5 Memory of Places and Spaces and the Design of
Facilities for the Aging 117
Chapter 6 Systems Neuroscience and Building Systems Applied to
Workplace Design 135
Chapter 7 Methods and Models for Future Research 154

xviii
Appendix 1 Environment–Behavior Studies:
A Precursor for Neuroscience in Design 168
Appendix 2 A Basic Library of Neuroscience 180
Appendix 3 Architecture: History and Practice 204
Bibliography 243
Index 249
Contents

BRAIN LANDSCAPE

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Introduction
T
he goal of this book is to invite the neuroscience community to
devote a portion of their research agenda to architectural hypotheses.
These hypotheses are framed by questions of why the mind—with its
organ, the brain—produces speciﬁ c cognitive experiences for humans in
the spaces and places designed for their use. Spaces include open areas such
as parks, playgrounds, ceremonial plazas, and other landscape designs. Places
include urban complexes, buildings, and especially interiors designed to
serve some functional purpose.
As you walk into the Abbey Church in Bath, England (see Fig. I–1),
your brain goes into overdrive. Not only does the shape and size of the
space and the sparkling colors of the windows of stained glass behind the
altar visually stimulate you, but all of your senses are formulating a sense
of awe. The sounds of your footsteps on the hard pavement, the reverbera-
tion of music as an organ plays, the hushed voices of other visitors are
being processed by your auditory cortex. We sense the rough texture of the
stone before we actually touch it. We smell the musty odors of an old build-
ing and perhaps the remnants of recently burned incense. We assemble
these sensory experiences in our brains and then ﬁ lter them through our
memories.

2
It is obvious that our brains and minds are interactive with the archi-
tectural settings in which we live, learn, worship, and work. The dramatic
response of our sensory systems when visiting the Abbey Church are
present in less dramatic form in 90 percent of our waking hours—the
amount of time most of us spend inside of buildings.
However, we know very little about the ways and whys of our brain/
mind interaction with architectural settings. The rapid development of
neuroscience shows promise to begin assembling a body of knowledge
around architecture and the mind. This book is intended to present the case
for doing so and to suggest methods and models for going about creating
such a new knowledge base.
THE HISTORICAL BASE FOR ARCHITECTURE
IN PHYSICS
Little advances in physics were made during the Middle Ages. Although
great medieval universities were founded in the 13th to the 15th centu-
ries, these universities were places for scholarship in philosophy, litera-
ture, or the arts. There was little or no science based on experiments, even
in the medical schools. There was a brief ﬂ owering of science in the 17th
century, primarily based on the work of Sir Isaac Newton. However, from
Figure I–1. Bath Abbey.
Brain Landscape

3
the time of Newton until the 19th century, little happened to advance
physics.
In the 19th century, discoveries in electricity and thermodynamics
were ﬁ rmly established by experiments, and principles of these discoveries
were incorporated in mathematical formulas. This enabled the engineer-
ing community of the 20th century to develop special areas of compe-
tence in electrical engineering, mechanical engineering, and environmental
engineering.
It seems likely that just as 19th-century physics underlay the develop-
ment of 20th-century engineering applications, so neuroscience (com-
bined with genetics) will become the basis for new applied science
tools in the 21st century. In the next few decades, it is likely that the
fundamental aspects of neuroscience will become the domain of a new
generation of applied social and behavioral scientists, engineers, and
architects.
NEUROSCIENCE AND ARCHITECTURE:
TWO NEW PARADIGMS
The concept of paradigms, ﬁ rst introduced by Thomas Kuhn (1970), is
described here for both the architectural and neuroscience communities.
An indication of the difﬁ culty of introducing new knowledge into such
communities is discussed. An example of a successful change in the design
of neonatal care units based on knowledge from neuroscience is presented.
This section concludes with comments on the likely path of paradigm
shifts in the design professions.
Kuhn introduced the concept of paradigms. He says:
Close historical investigation of a given specialty at a given time discloses
a set of recurrent and quasi-standard illustrations of various theories in their
conceptual, observational, and instrumental applications. These are the
community’s paradigms, revealed in its textbooks, lectures, and laboratory
exercises. By studying them and by practicing with them, the members of
the corresponding community learn their trade. (Kuhn, 1970)
Introduction

4
The architectural and neuroscience communities are quite different
communities whose paradigms are relatively clear. In the architectural
community, the studio exercises of students, concentrated on designing
buildings, become the central focus of their paradigm. With the exception
of books on the history of architecture, textbooks in architectural schools
are almost exclusively related to an engineering discipline whose basic
tenets grew out of 19th-century physics. To become licensed to practice, a
novice architect is tested for knowledge of structural design, lighting
design, HVAC (heating, ventilating, and air conditioning), acoustics,
and so forth. The core paradigm, however, is premised on creating design
solutions for buildings that meet building codes and are constructible by
skilled craftspeople. The profession awards prizes to designs (usually only
shown to the judges in photographs) based on the changing value systems
of one’s peers. To be published in this community is to have photographs
of buildings printed in professional journals accompanied by descriptions
prepared by writers whose material is based on personal views, is lightly
edited, but is not subject to the rigors of peer review. The architectural
press, as well as the accolades of architectural fan clubs, change their
allegiances every few years and encourage a striving for original design
solutions.
The neuroscience community has sufﬁ ciently deﬁ ned its paradigm
through the classic medium of textbooks, lectures, and laboratory exer-
cises required of students. The conceptual, observational, and instrumen-
tal applications of neuroscientists are organized around the brain, its
genetic origins, developmental progress, network structure, chemical and
biological activities, and so on. In rare excursions, these lab exercises will
touch on aspects of the human experience, but generally the puzzles they
address are ones that, when solved, advance our understanding of how to
deal with disease.
The community of cognitive neuroscientists includes studies of how
the behavior of animals (including humans) is caused by, modiﬁ ed, or
prohibited by brain activity. To be published in these communities is to
prepare a detailed, rigorous description of an experiment, how it was
conducted, and what results were achieved. One’s peers who are versed in
Brain Landscape

5
the special language of the experiments review such publications. The
articles are usually accompanied by detailed illustrations of the observa-
tions made with technologically sophisticated instruments.
Shared Paradigms and Developing Crisis
Kuhn suggests that communities who share a paradigm also share the
belief that the kinds of problems they are prepared to address have solu-
tions for which their skills are needed. They reinforce this belief by accept-
ing only those problems into their community that they can solve.
Problems that lie outside of their ﬁ eld of knowledge are considered to
belong to another discipline or need to be rejected because they are too
difﬁ cult. The result can be that the community is insolated from those
important problems that are not reducible to their puzzle form and hence
cannot be stated in conceptual terms they understand.
Kuhn proposes that a shift away from an existing paradigm occurs when
a crisis develops. The crisis might be created when a discovery becomes
known (e.g., x-rays) that no one had known about earlier. Or it might be
produced by an anomaly—something about a puzzle being studied does
not produce the results expected (e.g., Copernicus could not explain the
motion of planets by using the existing paradigm of the time, namely, that
the Earth was the stationary center of the universe). The difﬁ culty with
facing a crisis is that the decision to reject or modify an existing paradigm
will not be made unless there is a new one to take its place. Those who
hold the existing paradigm will take their time and be very cautious about
comparing the new one with the old one before making the change.
Historically, new paradigms have been adopted by another generation,
leaving the practitioners of the old paradigm to retain their beliefs and
methods for the balance of their careers.
Kuhn goes on to say:
When a new paradigm begins to emerge, members of the existing commu-
nity will be reluctant to embrace it unless convinced that two all-important
conditions can be met. First, the new candidate must seem to resolve some
Introduction

6
outstanding and generally recognized problem that can be met in no other
way. Second, the new paradigm must preserve a relatively large part of the
concrete problem-solving ability that has accrued to science through its
predecessors. (Kuhn, 1970)
The crisis in the architectural community is of two kinds. The ﬁ rst is a
general dislike the public shares of the advanced design concepts of the
architectural stars (those who are published as taste makers). For example,
a letter to the editor of the New York Times (after their issue on architec-
ture) says, “the whole architecture profession is ego gone wild. Here in
Denver [where the author of the letter lives], Daniel Libeskind has given
us a new art museum that looks, God forbid, like a collapsed skyscraper,
jagged and inverted.”
John Silber in his book Architecture of the Absurd (2007) argues that
form meant to please one’s self (or one’s theoretician cronies) is architec-
turally irresponsible. He is displeased with “the heights of pretension and
bogus philosophic and historical exposition.”
A contributor to ArchVoices (a student Web page) wrote:
One stated example of architectural leadership in the public realm is ser-
vice on an architectural review board—with the goal of making it easier for
architects to get modernist designs built in their communities. When our
cities and countries are facing rapid ecological degradation and increasing
inability to provide well-designed buildings and neighborhoods that are
equally accessible to all people, is stylistic guidance truly the kind of leader-
ship we need from design professionals?
The crisis in the neuroscience community is created by the existence of
the enormous body of research emerging from the neuroscience commu-
nity that is largely unknown to the architectural community—much like
the existence of x-rays was unknown to the scientiﬁ c community before
Röntgen’s discovery in 1895. There are two very different reasons the
architectural and neuroscience communities have failed to bridge their
intellectual gap.
Brain Landscape

7
The architectural community, although intellectually curious about
new ideas such as neuroscience, is not prepared to give up the existing
paradigm that serves them well in solving the kinds of problems they see
as relevant. They do not “recognize problems that can be met in no other
way.” The architectural community also has their existing paradigm
reinforced by clients (the source of income), code authorities (the source
of law enforcement for correctly solved puzzles), and by the academic
community (the source of new employees who can move comfortably into
ofﬁ ces practicing the existing paradigm).
The neuroscience community, though intrigued by the possibility of
interdisciplinary studies with architects, sees no possibility that a new
paradigm would preserve a large part of their current problem-solving
ability. Their ﬁ eld is so new that discoveries are being made every day,
making it unnecessary for them to resort to a new way of working. Even
novices entering the ﬁ eld (through graduate programs in universities)
dare not entertain visions of a new paradigm for lack of assurance that
careers paths will be open to them.
The Case of Dr. Stanley Graven and His Colleagues
Here we include an example of a new paradigm approach. The sensory
systems of the human fetus develop in sequence. Four of them (called the
somatosensory modalities), touch, pain, position, and temperature sensi-
tivity, are the ﬁ rst to appear in the fetal life. These are followed very
shortly by vestibular modalities—the sensory systems of the middle ear
that detect motion. The third set of systems to develop and begin to func-
tion are the chemosensory systems of smell and taste. These are all well
established with connections to the midbrain and basal ganglion in the
second trimester of fetal life. The sensory auditory modalities, including
responses to sound and vibration, appear early in the third trimester. After
the critical stage for auditory development has past, it is followed by visual
development. It is interesting to observe that at this point in develop-
ment, the human fetus has no need for light or visual stimuli to have
perfectly normal visual development.
Introduction

8
When an infant is born prematurely, the sequencing of sensory devel-
opment becomes an issue because stimuli and use of systems that are out
of sequence can create developmental problems, for instance, visual
development can begin before the auditory modalities are in place.
When stimuli are out of sequence or when their intensity is inappropri-
ate for the stage of development, interference in the normal sensory
development will be produced. The most common examples of sensory
interference are the early introduction of visual stimuli before auditory
patterns are learned and in place. Examples in animals have shown
that the introduction of visual stimuli before auditory patterns are in
place will interfere with both frequency discrimination and pattern
recognition.
Architectural designs for neonatal care units are based on design crite-
ria from doctors, nurses, and administrators. Architectural training pro-
vides the ability to solve the problem of designing a neonatal care unit by
these criteria. It implicitly assumes that a concern with the development
of the brain is the responsibility of another discipline—thus insulating the
architect from a concern with fetal development. The architectural com-
munity has no conceptual or institutional tool provided by its paradigm of
practice to include concerns based on an understanding of the brain.
Dr. Stanley Graven at the University of Florida several years ago began
to address the problem of appropriate environments for neonatal care
units. It was clear to him, based on his understanding of neuroscience,
that noisy environments with announcements intended for doctors and
nurses and loud air conditioning systems were placing demands on the
auditory systems of premature infants before they were fully developed.
Even worse, the lighting systems designed to ease the work of the medical
staff, and sometimes daylight streaming through windows, was severely
taxing the still-developing visual systems of premature infants. It was not
that these infants would be deaf and blind; rather, they would lose acuity
in these systems. Thus, a child born into these circumstances would not
be able to develop perfect pitch if he or she became a musician. Children
exposed prematurely to bright lights were likely to develop astigmatism
and later in life would be candidates for macular degeneration.
Brain Landscape

9
By emphasizing the requirements for an environment responsive to
premature infants and providing them with incubators tuned to their
development stage, Graven managed to introduce dramatic changes in
the design of neonatal care units.
A PROPOSAL FOR THE ARCHITECTURAL
COMMUNITY
To cross the threshold from where we are to where we ought to be (or
to evolve a new paradigm for architecture), major conceptual shifts must
take place in how we understand human requirements. This will be a shift
away from an exclusive emphasis on solving the puzzle of designing a
building—its structural, mechanical, lighting, and spatial components—
to studying how to accommodate human activities correlated with
responses of the brain and the mind. In the future, architects will need an
understanding of how to integrate knowledge of neural networks and their
organization into the practice of architecture. This will include how
attention and conscious awareness regulate and reconﬁ gure the actions of
the neurons in those networks affected by the built environment.
How Are Switches to New Paradigms Made?
Again, Kuhn provides the key concept here. When communities prac-
ticing in two different worlds see things from the vantage point of their
long-established paradigms, they are not aware of viewing the same or
related puzzles. Even when they are looking at the same issues, they can-
not hope to communicate fully until one group or the other experiences a
paradigm shift. It is also not likely that a transition between different par-
adigms can be made a step at a time, forced by the logic of common inter-
ests. What is required is a switch that occurs all at once, or not at all.
For example, when Copernicus announced in the 15th century that
the Earth must be moving and not a stationary planet at the center of the
universe, his detractors were not wrong—they had a different deﬁ nition
Introduction

10
of what was meant by Earth. Within their paradigm, things worked well
enough to suit them. They could not accommodate to the new concept of
Copernicus by gradual accommodation, it was a whole new way of regard-
ing the problems of physics and astronomy, one that necessarily changed
the meaning of both Earth and motion.
The transition from one paradigm to a new one is a conversion experi-
ence that cannot be forced. Lifelong resistance, particularly by those
whose productive careers have them committed to an existing paradigm,
is not a violation of some standard of practice. Within their worldview,
the existing paradigm enables them to solve all of the puzzles they con-
sider to be important. A generation is often required to effect the change.
Conversions to the new paradigm will occur a few at a time until, after the
last holdouts have died, the whole professional community will again be
practicing under a single, but now different paradigm.
This book is intended to help both the architectural and neuroscience
communities think about the development of a knowledge base that will
encourage a major paradigm transition in the architectural community.
A PERSONAL HISTORY
Many of the experiences in my life can explain the need I felt to pro-
duce this book, so I thought it would be appropriate to provide readers
with a personal history. As you will see, it has been a complicated life,
ﬁ lled with many changing personal ideas of what is important in architec-
ture, what needed to change, and how knowledge could be linked to
professional practice. I hope you ﬁ nd it interesting to read as well as clari-
fying how I have arrived at this point in my life with a conviction that
neuroscience research will likely produce a major shift in the architectural
paradigm of education and practice.
How New Knowledge Changed My Architectural Ideas
When I was 5 years old, I met my ﬁ rst real architect. His name was Ralph
Adams Cram, perhaps the most famous architect of Gothic structures
Brain Landscape

11
during the ﬁ rst few decades of the 20th century. My father had managed
to convince Cram to design a small church for our congregation in Louis-
ville, Kentucky, even though Cram lived in Boston and had designed such
signiﬁ cant projects as the West Point Academy and the Cathedral of St.
John the Divine in New York City. Sitting in our living room and talking
with Cram didn’t seem like anything special to a 5-year old, but it inﬂ u-
enced my life in many ways. One of the lasting impressions he made was
to tell me a story about a personal experience of his. He said, “John Paul,
what my family called me, if you think you want to be an architect remem-
ber you have to be prepared to have frustrating experiences as
well as the exhilaration of designing. Last Sunday morning, while I was
sleeping, my phone rang at ﬁ ve in the morning. The minister for a church
in Nebraska that I had just designed was calling with what he considered
an urgent question about where the toilet paper was kept. His new church
was to be dedicated later that morning and he was checking to see if all
was in order. He could not ﬁ nd the toilet paper. Consequently, he called
me because, as his architect, he assumed I was responsible for every detail.”
That anecdote so impressed itself on my young mind that I never again
saw architects as solely great form givers.
Entering the World of Architecture
During the years I was in high school, my father was tutoring me in
Latin and Greek in preparation for entering the ministry. In my last year
of high school (1945), just before I was scheduled to enter a preparatory
school for Lutheran ministers, we had a visit from my maternal grand-
mother Schwolert. Diga, as I called her, asked me one day during dinner
with our family why I was planning to be a minister. Her opinion was that
anyone could become a minister, but if you were artistically gifted, God
had other plans for you. I had shown some artistic ability, so Diga thought
I should become an architect.
In November 1945, after graduation from high school, I was “drafted”
into the U.S. Marines. After boot camp, I became the education ofﬁ cer
for Parris Island (even though I was only a private). My responsibility
was to help marines who were being discharged decide on alternative
Introduction

12
educational programs. This role gave me ample time to think about my
own options. I ended up changing my mind about the ministry and agree-
ing with Diga. Because my father was also a great fan of architecture, he
did not object to my decision. In 1947, after two years in the marines, I
was selected by the navy to become a midshipman in their new Holloway
Program, which included the opportunity to attend any university with a
Naval Science Program.
I arrived at the Architecture School of the University of Illinois in
1948, just as the world of architectural education was in the midst of a
revolution—what I would call today a shift to a new paradigm. I had no
inkling of this revolution. I entered with the full intention of becoming a
Gothic church architect like my hero, Ralph Adams Cram. I had never
heard of Walter Gropius, who brought with him to Harvard the Bauhaus
mandate to reject all historical styles and pursue modernism. Not until my
junior year as an architecture student was my mind changed by these new
ideas from Gropius sweeping through architectural education like a forest
ﬁ re destroying all classical building design studies. Between my freshman
and sophomore years, the Beaux Arts model of architectural education—
one based on the rigorous study of classical design (with which I had
begun my studies)—was completely eliminated. It was replaced with not
fully formed but exciting notions of modern design to be generated by
one’s personal creativity, artistic inclinations, and the architectural design
faculty’s notions of good design. There was very little rigor left in such an
educational paradigm. The general public, including clients, were left to
accept such new design ideas or be considered Luddites holding back the
advance of the new age. My ideas about architecture were changed, but
there was little in the way of a knowledge base to support these new ideas.
Before I was 30, I served as the architect of record for more than 100
churches and parish halls (multipurpose ﬁ rst units for a new congrega-
tion). The primary reason for this remarkable number of clients was the
result of a new venture that several of my classmates from Illinois and I
began in 1952. When we graduated, we reasoned that our education and
summer working experiences had given us a general understanding of how
to prepare design and working drawings for a building (see Fig. I–2), but
Brain Landscape

13
we lacked any experience in actually constructing one. As a result, we
formed a company we called Creative Buildings (in Urbana, Illinois) and
began designing and building houses—primarily for university faculty
members who were interested in contemporary design. Through a series of
ventures, we moved into the business of panelized (prefabricating) build-
ings, including church buildings. By 1958, we had a manufacturing
plant that employed 75 people and a large backlog of church clients. We
had so many clients because a church building committee knew they
could trust us to design, fabricate, and assemble a ﬁ nished structure within
a reasonable budget, something architects in traditional practice seldom
did because they lacked sufﬁ cient experience to estimate construction
costs. The American Institute of Architects did not condone this form of
practice at the time, although it is accepted today.
Boston
In 1958, at the peak of Creative Buildings’ venture into manufactured
buildings, I began to have serious concerns about how poorly my architec-
tural education had prepared me to deal with the business of architecture
and how little value classes in learning to design original buildings one at
a time had been for the design issues of prefabrication. The more I thought
about these problems, the more I became convinced that I needed to go
back to school and refresh my mind with new perspectives from ﬁ elds
other than architecture. I decided to take a year-long leave of absence
from Creative Buildings and move my small family to the Boston area to
explore graduate education. I ﬁ rst went to the architecture school at the
Figure I–2. Design for A-frame chapel (design
by John Eberhard).
Introduction

14
Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT), believing it to be best
setting for expanding my mind. When I told Dean Belluschi I was inter-
ested in thinking about how one would approach design in an industrial-
ized building industry, he was incredulous. Why would anyone want to
study that problem, he asked, when architects were still not very good at
designing buildings one at a time? Fortunately for me, one of the faculty
members—Burnham Kelly, an attorney by profession who taught law
courses for architectural students—told me I was in the right institution
but the wrong school. He sent me to the School of Industrial Manage-
ment at MIT to talk with his friend, Howard Johnson. Howard and I
immediately bonded by some magical process that resulted in my becom-
ing a Sloan fellow in his school (he became the dean of the school while
I was studying there, and he later became the president of MIT).
While I was an architecture student at Illinois, I had discounted the
notion that the so-called Ivy League schools in the East were superior
educational settings. I was astounded to ﬁ nd the variety and depth of
stimulating courses in the Sloan School—the new name given to the
School of Industrial Management while I was there. My brain soaked up
every educational experience, especially the great books course taught by
Elting Morrison. Having had no exposure to great literature while I was at
Illinois, I became truly educated for the ﬁ rst time. This included ideas
acquired from reading such classics as the Education of Henry Adams
and Alexis de Tocqueville’s Democracy in America. Never in my wildest
imagination while I was at Illinois would it have occurred to me to won-
der how and why the United States became the longest-lived democracy
in the world. My mind was being highly developed by such ideas.
Sheraton Hotels and MIT
When I completed my Sloan year at MIT in 1959, many aspects of
my mental development had changed in a new and positive direction.
I decided not to return to Creative Buildings in Urbana but to develop
two new ventures in Boston. One, thanks to my friend Howard Johnson,
who was now dean of the Sloan School, was to become a visiting faculty
member at his school. I could not believe it when he ﬁ rst suggested I teach
Brain Landscape

15
the great books course for Sloan fellows, but with the encouragement of
Elting Morrison, who had mentored my thesis as well as taught the great
books course, I agreed to try. It turned out I was good at this sort of intel-
lectual challenge, and it was rewarding for me (and I hope for the Sloan
fellows in my classes).
The second venture was to become the director of research for the
Sheraton Hotel Corporation, based in Boston. During the preparation of
my thesis at the Sloan School, I had determined that the newly emerging
technology of electronic computation was going to have a major impact on
the building industry—including architects. When Thomas Boylston
Adams (a direct descendant of John and John Quincy Adams), a vice pres-
ident of Sheraton, proposed that I work with the company to advance their
use of new technologies, I jumped at the chance. He and others at Shera-
ton assumed that because I was a graduate of MIT I must know about com-
puters. Because this was a technology I knew little about but wanted to
learn as rapidly as possible, I dived into the subject with all my energy. One
of the major outcomes of the 3 years I spent at Sheraton was the develop-
ment (with the Statler Hotel School at Cornell University) of a computer-
based system for checking in and out of hotels—now a common practice.
As research director, I also developed a number of lesser inventions, but
the largest result was internal to my own mind. I now knew how computers
could become a major technological infrastructure for the design and con-
struction of buildings. Integrating the thousands of bits of information
needed in this process seemed as logical as what we had done with the data
system of hotels. It has actually taken more than 40 years for the building
industry to develop a serious application of this concept. Today it is called
BIM (building information system) and is in the development stage across
the construction industry—including the architectural profession.
One day Tom Adams, who was treasurer of the Academy of Arts and
Sciences (AAS) in Boston (founded in 1779 by John Adams), asked me
if I would undertake an architectural project on behalf of the academy.
The AAS was housed on the ﬁ rst two ﬂ oors of an elegant mansion called
the Brandegee Estate. They had a client who wished to lease the third
ﬂ oor of the house for a top-secret project headed by Francis Schmidt of
MIT. The Brandegee family was willing to allow this use if an architect
Introduction

16
would make sure that it was designed in keeping with the high quality
of the rest of the mansion and done in a way that would allow the spaces
to be restored to their former elegance once the project was over. I found
out later that the project was devoted to a study of human memory, moti-
vated by a concern that it might be possible for the Russians to use their
Cybernetics Research Unit to involuntarily extract memories from cap-
tured spies. Schmidt’s research team was called the Neuroscience Institute.
They eventually moved their operations to Rockefeller University in New
York City. Later, Gerald Edelman, who had become president of the insti-
tute, moved it to La Jolla, California, where it now ﬂ ourishes. Little did
I know at the time that I was a player in helping advance neuroscience.
Washington
One day in early 1963, my MIT ofﬁ cemate, Richard Morse, asked me if
I had ever thought of going to work in Washington. I answered that I had
often spoken to my class of Sloan fellows about my conviction that each
of us owed a responsibility to perform a public service at some point in our
careers. Morse then told me that Jerry Weisner, who had taken a leave of
absence from MIT to become President Kennedy’s science advisor, and
Herbert Hollomon, who had headed research for GE and was now the
assistant secretary of Commerce for Science and Technology, were start-
ing a new federal program called Civilian Industrial Technology (CIT).
CIT was intended to stimulate “backward” industries (which they deﬁ ned
as industries with little or no research) to invest in research and develop-
ment. One of those industries was going to be the building industry, and
they wanted me to come to Washington to help them. President Kennedy
was a hero to me, so I couldn’t resist the chance to work in his administra-
tion—even if it meant my family would suffer from the reduced income
available for civil servants. When I met Herb Hollomon, it was clear we
were going to be good teammates, even when we lost Kennedy and inher-
ited Lyndon Johnson.
During my ﬁ rst week working in Hollomon’s ofﬁ ce, he introduced me to
another one of his young recruits—Don Schön. Don was 4 years younger
Brain Landscape

17
than I (I was only 36), a graduate from Harvard with a doctorate in philoso-
phy. He had worked for the previous 5 years with Arthur D. Little (a major
consulting ﬁ rm based in Cambridge, Massachusetts). Don was to become
the director of the State Technical Services program. After Johns on became
president, Hollomon reorganized the science and technology side of the
Department of Commerce, which reported to him. This reorganization
included:
the Patent Ofﬁ ce;
the Weather Bureau and Coast and Geodetic Service and other units of the
Commerce Department were merged to form NOAA; and
the National Bureau of Standards along with the State Technical Services
program, which were merged and reorganized into three institutes—on the
model of the National Institutes of Health.
To our surprise, Don was made the director of the Institute for Applied
Technology (IAT), and I was made his deputy. IAT included 800 people
who worked in divisions as diverse as Building and Fire Research, Com-
puter Technology (which had developed SEAC, the ﬁ rst fully functional
stored-program computer in 1950), the Technical Analysis Division
(using advanced computational methods to model national economic
issues such as whether the United States should invest in the develop-
ment of the Concorde), and the Clearinghouse for Federal Scientiﬁ c and
Technological Information (which published all nonclassiﬁ ed reports by
federal agencies).
After 2 years of working together, Don decided to leave Washington
and move back to the Boston area to start a consulting ﬁ rm he called
OSTI (Organization for Social and Technological Innovation). Hollo-
mon made me the director of IAT, and in a ceremony in the Rose Garden
(see Fig. I–3), Lyndon Johnson promoted me to a GS-18—the highest
rank for a civil servant. This made me, at the age of 40, the equivalent
of a two-star general and the highest-ranking architect in the govern-
ment. I was not put into this position because I was an architect—it was
because I had shown myself to be a competent manager of complex
research organizations.
•
•
•
Introduction

18
Buffalo
Having learned more than I ever thought I needed to know about
how the federal government worked, I decided it was time to leave when
Richard Nixon was elected president in 1968. IAT had shown me the
value of linking research on advanced concepts to real-world demonstra-
tions; the issue was what to do next to continue my personal development.
An opportunity I couldn’t resist presented itself when Martin Meyerson,
president of the State University of New York at Buffalo (SUNY-Buffalo),
invited me to start a new school of architecture at his university. He
arranged for my new school to report to three provosts: Engineering, Fine
Arts, and Social Science. I decided to have this school focus on an inter-
disciplinary graduate program, which would have as its purpose educating
a new generation of architects who could organize and manage research
projects—as contrasted to designing buildings. We formed a nonproﬁ t
organization outside the university called BOSTI—the Buffalo OSTI
related to my friend Don Schön’s research organization in Boston. During
the next 5 years, our team of graduate students participated in more than
50 projects—all of which were funded through BOSTI by outside organi-
zations. We used the money we earned to support our graduate students
and supplement faculty salaries. While the Architectural Accrediting
Board did not see ﬁ t to accredit our graduate program (they had no basis
for evaluating a nondesign curriculum), our graduates nonetheless all
went on to interesting careers, most in the building industry.
Figure I–3. John Eberhard in the Rose Garden
with President Lyndon B. Johnson.
Brain Landscape

19
Washington Again
After the Vietnam War demonstrations on our campus, the New York
State legislature began to drastically reduce the budget for SUNY-Buffalo.
One result of these cuts was that Meyerson resigned as president and
moved to greener pastures at the University of Pennsylvania. Not long
after, I was given an opportunity to return to Washington, where I actu-
ally preferred to live and work. The opportunity was the result of a grant
given to the American Institute of Architects (AIA) by the Ford Founda-
tion to study energy conservation in buildings. In 1973, the nation was
entering an energy crisis, and the Ford Foundation decided to publish a
report on the nature of this crisis and what could be done about it. Bill
Slayton, executive vice president of the AIA, created a nonproﬁ t corpora-
tion he called the AIA Research Corporation (AIARC) to receive the
$50,000 grant. He needed someone who knew something about managing
research to organize this new corporation and ﬁ nd other projects to
support its independent status. When he found out I was interested in
returning to Washington, he recruited me for the post.
Over the next 5 years, AIARC undertook a large number of projects
ranging from energy conservation (including solar energy and wind
energy) to new design concepts for libraries. By 1978, there were more
than 60 people on our staff, and we had a budget of almost $10 million.
This was by far the largest research organization in the architectural
world, but the elected ofﬁ cers of the AIA lacked the imagination to see
what its research agenda had to do with architecture (as they deﬁ ned it).
In an unfortunate series of events, I resigned as president of the AIARC
and it eventually dissolved. I learned an important lesson—it is not
easy, in fact almost impossible, to introduce new knowledge into a large
institutional setting that is seen by its leaders as already well suited to its
goals.
Introduction

20
A New Opportunity
It was not long before Dr. Edward Epremian of the National Academy
of Sciences (NAS) approached me to talk about becoming the executive
director of the Building Research Advisory Board (BRAB) of the National
Research Council (NRC)—the NRC was the operational arm of the NAS,
providing advice to government agencies. BRAB had been established
ostensibly to provide advice to the 16 agencies that designed and built
facilities for government purposes. In fact, however, it was a behind-
the-scenes lobbying organization for building industry groups as diverse
as the Masonry Institute and the National Association of Home Builders.
I indicated I would take the job if we could change the name (to signal the
end of the old regime) and create a new board of directors. After I pro-
vided Dr. Frank Press (president of NAS) with background information
on the actual activities of BRAB, he agreed to change the name to the
Advisory Board on the Built Environment (ABBE) and form a new board
under the leadership of Phillip Hammer—an eminent building industry
economist.
For the next 5 years, I served as the director of ABBE undertaking vari-
ous advisory projects for government agencies. One of our major projects
was for the U.S. State Department after the tragic 1983 bombing of the
U.S. embassy in Beirut. Immediately after the bombing, Congress appro-
priated $1 million that was speciﬁ ed for the State Department to use in
obtaining a design for an “embassy of the future” that would be resistant
to terrorist attacks. The assistant secretary of State called me to his ofﬁ ce
and asked if I had any advice on how to obtain such a design. When
I indicated it would not be wise to ask architects to design such a project
without ﬁ rst having clear design criteria to evaluate their work, he agreed
and gave us the funds to undertake the development of these criteria.
We assembled a team of nine specialists on a range of subjects from the
psychology of terrorism to blast-resistant structural design. The team
report was immediately classiﬁ ed secret and still serves as a resource for
the Ofﬁ ce of Foreign Buildings in the State Department. This project was
Brain Landscape

21
an example of how reframing a research question can produce more satis-
factory results.
Carnegie Mellon University (CMU)
In 1989, shortly after I thought I had retired, I was recruited as the head
of the Department of Architecture at CMU. The doctoral program within
the architecture department there concentrated on either computer -aided
design or building systems—both areas of my past research interest. These
two developing knowledge bases for the architectural profession were in
their early stages. Doctoral students at CMU, with their faculty advisors,
were helping advance the state of the art in both areas. An organizational
unit called the Advanced Building Systems Integration Consortium
(ABSIC) had been created as a vehicle for supporting research in building
systems design. The PhD program in computer-aided design had also cre-
ated an institutional unit for organizing their research and gathering funds
for student support. Both institutional settings worked well for organizing
interdisciplinary research and could serve as models for future neurosci-
ence and architecture degree programs.
The American Architectural Foundation
In 1995, after I had once again “retired,” I was approached by Syl
Damianos, chairman of the board, and Norman Koonce, president, of the
American Architectural Foundation (AAF; a not-for-proﬁ t afﬁ liate of the
AIA) who asked if I would take on a new assignment. Jonas Salk, who had
founded the Salk Institute, had told them of his personal experiences in
trying to ﬁ nd a cure for polio in the 1950s. He said he had reached a point
where he was “stuck” intellectually and needed to take a brief sabbatical.
He did so by retreating for several weeks to the Abbey at Assisi, Italy (see
Fig. I–4). He said the architectural setting of the abbey was so stimulating
to his imagination that he created the concept for what became the Salk
vaccine as well as how to produce it. Dr. Salk proposed that the AAF
Introduction

22
mount a research effort to better understand how architectural settings
inﬂ uence human experience. Just as he had found the architecture of the
Abbey at Assisi stimulating, so he believed the human mind (and its
instrument, the brain) reacted continuously to architectural settings. Syl
and Norman asked me how I would like to return to Washington and
work on this challenge. I said I was interested in returning to Washington,
but indicated I had no idea about how to approach this issue. They proposed
that I be given the title “director of Discovery” with the assignment of
ﬁ nding the appropriate research.
My Discovery of Neuroscience
I embarked on my discovery period by reading and talking with a wide
range of people. In this early stage, I collected anecdotes of people who
had experienced an architectural setting that for them was memorable.
A number of these anecdotes are used in chapters in this book.
In 1996, Norman and I went to visit Dr. Fred (Rusty) Gage at the Salk
Institute because Norman had heard a radio broadcast in which Rusty
described his experiments with mice who produced new neurons in their
brains when they were placed in stimulating environments. We visited
his laboratory and told him of our interest in learning if his research would
enable the AIA to say architectural designs (which provided simulating
Brain Landscape
Figure I–4. Abbey at Assisi.

23
environments for people) would enable humans to produce new neurons.
Rusty was quick to make it clear that his research had been done with
mice and could not be assumed to prove anything about humans. But he
encouraged further exploration of the relationship of neuroscience and
architecture.
While we were in La Jolla, we accepted Dr. Gerald Edelman’s invita-
tion to visit his Neuroscience Institute. He thought we would admire the
architectural design of the institute. He was not willing to comment on
ways neuroscience might assist architects in understanding how the brain
and mind experienced architectural settings, but he gave us a copy of his
bookBright Air, Brilliant Fire: On the Matter of the Mind. My reading of his
book, which I found tough going because I did not yet know the language
of neuroscience, was so stimulating that I immediately decided my jour-
ney of discovery had borne fruit. Here was a body of knowledge of vast
importance, little known by those of us who were architects, which seemed
likely to change our understanding of how classroom design affects the
cognitive processes of children, how the design of hospital rooms could
impact the recovery rate of patients, how working environments likely
impact the productivity of white-collar workers, how sacred spaces instill
a sense of awe in those who worship there, and much more. It was clear to
me then, and even clearer now, that I needed to spend the rest of my life
learning as much as possible about this rapidly expanding ﬁ eld of knowl-
edge. For example, I wanted to know the following:
Whether the genetic structure of our brains provides humans with an
innate sense of “good” proportion.
In what way does the development process in the brains of young children
impact their cognitive abilities between 6 and 12 years of age (the ﬁ rst to
sixth grade)?
Is the function of mirror neurons in the brains of adults who are witnessing
a dance performance affected by the distance between their seat and the
stage?
When humans move from one cultural context to another are dispositions
(as per Damasio) recorded by previous architectural experiences used when
experiencing similar buildings in the new context?•
•
•
•
Introduction

24
How do our emotional memories of past experiences with an architectural
setting affect the perception of current experiences?
I was fortunate in 2005 to become a member of the Society for Neuro-
science. I am the only architecturally educated member of the more than
35,000 members of the society.
It seems to me highly likely that neuroscience has much to contribute
to the practice of architecture. This book introduces and brings together
my own understanding of neuroscience based on the research of others
and attempts to use this understanding to challenge the ﬁ eld to explore
architecture as a new frontier.
•
Brain Landscape

CHAPTER ONE
Three Approaches to Consciousness
The human brain is what makes humans capable of painting the
Sistine Chapel, designing airplanes and transistors, skating, reading,
and playing Chopin. It is a truly astonishing and magniﬁ cent kind of
“wonder-tissue,” as the philosopher Dennett jokingly put it. Whatever
self-esteem justly derives from our accomplishments does so because of
the brain, not in spite of it.
—CHURCHLAND (2002)
The goal of science is not to open the door to everlasting wisdom, but
to set a limit on everlasting error.
—BERTOLT BRECHT, GALILEO

Brain Landscape26
A
rchitects have designed many of the places where we live, work,
study, and worship. Some places have been converted from previous
uses, for example, a warehouse converted into loft apartments. Others are
only temporary places, such as a place used for a wedding. There are usually
design criteria for places intended for a functional purpose—schoolrooms,
patient bedrooms, and ofﬁ ces. Owners, elected ofﬁ cials, government agen-
cies, and others formulate these design criteria and designers follow
them—making their stylistic choices. Social and behavioral research over
the past few decades has provided an understanding of how people respond
to design attributes. Although this research provides an understanding of
how humans respond, it does not explain why we have such responses.
Neuroscience research could provide a knowledge base with clear evi-
dence of why the occupants of spaces and places are affected by the design
of these spaces and places. For example, it is only after we know how a
child’s brain responds to daylight that we can understand why they might
have better grades and attendance in a well-lit school.
THE STATUS OF ARCHITECTURAL PRACTICE
Architecture is currently in an unstable state. The following are my
observations of why this has happened.
In the 1930s, the Bauhaus in Germany began a rebellion that swept
across the world of architecture like a forest ﬁ re. This rebellion has been
incorporated in the paradigm now underlying architectural education
and practice. Modernism (to use one of the names given this movement)
sought to serve the needs of society’s common people, as opposed to the
princes of the church, the state, and big business. In doing so, the move-
ment was against historicism, ornament, and the overblown forms of the
classical period. However, critics like Nathan Glazer (2007) argue that
modernism in architecture has abandoned its early intentions and hopes.
He says that when architects compete with each other in imposing
forms on museums and concert halls and residential towers that bear

Chapter One: Three Approaches to Consciousness27
no resemblance to their functions, the movement in its larger sense is
dead.
It also seems fair to say that most members of the general public who
have not been educated to the modernist paradigm do not like the archi-
tectural designs of the architectural elite. Thomas Kuhn (1970) suggests in
his classic treatise that paradigmatic shifts are produced when the existing
paradigms do not produce satisfactory results. Clients, who provide the
commissions for architects, pursue various strategies to force a more ﬁ nan-
cially competitive climate for architectural services. In the United States,
the architectural profession has so far managed to insulate itself from com-
petition for services by shielding practices with a licensing process man-
aged by state governments. The original concept behind granting an
exclusive license to call oneself an architect was because architects provide
services to protect the health, safety, and welfare of the public. This is shaky
ground because many states are reviewing their registration laws and are
raising questions of whether architects should be granted this protection.
The third reason is based on a developing change in building technol-
ogy at the end of the 19th century when steel structures, elevators, interior
plumbing, electrical lighting, central heating, the telephone, and auto-
mobiles were invented, creating a massive change in the infrastructure of
cities and buildings (see Appendix 3). As these inventions have become
integrated into the fabric of buildings and cities, they have been accom-
panied by changes in land uses that have produced dense, high-rise urban
centers that are crowded, unsafe, and polluted. If one accepts the notion
that necessity is the mother of invention, it seems likely that these urban
conditions in the developed world will soon generate new innovations.
So far, the only changes to emerge are those introduced in the communi-
cations systems of cities (rather than in the physical fabric), namely, the
Internet and cell phones. There are a few new ideas emerging for the phys-
ical surround of places in buildings. The idea is to have systems that are
dynamically adaptive to changes in occupation and use—that is, the inte-
rior elements are not static solutions (see Appendix 3). However, these
ideas are still in the experimental stage.

Brain Landscape28
I propose that a new knowledge base from neuroscience be developed
that will enable designers to respond to cognitive experiences of spaces and
places and allow architects to combine these design concepts with adap-
tive technology for the fabric of cities and buildings. This will bring about
a major shift in the paradigms of architectural education and practice.
First, I want to introduce the subject of consciousness.
CONSCIOUSNESS
Consciousness is the “binding” context for understanding how we expe-
rience architecture. It is considered the hard issue of neuroscience. The
commonsense notion of consciousness is well enough understood without
the advantage of a scientiﬁ c explanation. It seems obvious that we need
to be conscious to have an experience, even if that experience is one we
are reliving through dreams or memories. The dictionary deﬁ nition is sim-
ply, “the upper level of mental life of which the person is aware as con-
trasted with unconscious processes.”
Potential scientiﬁ c explanations of consciousness discussed in the sec-
tion that follows are those of Gerald Edelman and Giulio Tononi, Anto-
nio Damasio, and the late Francis Crick with his associate, Christopher
Koch.
Before going to these discussions, here are some other examples of
attempts to explain consciousness. For René Descartes and William James
more than two centuries later, to be conscious was synonymous with “to
think.” Descartes’s famous statement, “I think, therefore I am,” was a direct
recognition of the centrality of consciousness to both ontology (what is)
and epistemology (what and how we know).
Some philosophers deny any ontological or epistemic validity to
consciousness; they insist that there is literally nothing else beyond the
functioning of brain circuits, or at least nothing else that needs to be
explained.
These philosophers have suggested that once we understand the workings
of the brain sufﬁ ciently well, the concept of consciousness will evaporate.

Chapter One: Three Approaches to Consciousness29
The mind–body problem is made to disappear by denying or explaining
away the consciousness side of it.
Others propose that although consciousness is generated by physical
events in the brain, it is not reduced to them but emerges from them, just
as the properties of water emerge from the chemical combination of two
hydrogen atoms and one oxygen atom but are not directly reducible to the
properties of hydrogen or oxygen alone.
Models of the functions associated with consciousness have been for-
mulated in many ways—including metaphors borrowed from computer
science that talk about a central executive system or an operating system.
Some of these intuitions may point in the right direction, and others may
be misleading even though they are appealing.
Colin McGinn (1999) says that explaining consciousness has stub-
bornly resisted our best efforts. The mystery persists; he thinks we should
admit that we cannot solve it. We still have no idea of how “the water of
the physical brain is turned into the wine of consciousness.” McGinn
doesn’t exactly mean that human beings are just too stupid. Instead, he
introduces the idea of cognitive closure, that is, the operations the human
mind can carry out are incapable in principle of taking us to a proper
appreciation of what consciousness is and how it works. It’s as if, on a
chessboard, you were limited to diagonal moves: you could go all over the
board but never link the black and white squares. That wouldn’t mean
that one color was magic or immaterial. Equally, from God’s point of view,
there’s probably no mystery about consciousness at all—it may well be a
pretty simple affair when you understand it—but we can no more take the
God’s-eye point of view than a dog could adopt a human understanding of
physics.
The Mind
Though less controversial than the ideas surrounding consciousness,
any discussion of the mind will raise questions with which some members
of the neuroscience community are not comfortable. They see the con-
cept of mind as proposing something metaphysical or nonphysical outside

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Mr. Nason was on the porch waiting for them. He had seen Bob
riding home with Jack's wheel, and naturally had asked him where
his brother was, and Bob told him what had happened.
As her father helped Evelyn out of the carriage, tears came into his
eyes as he kissed her, saying:
"Bob told me all about it, dear."
"Oh, papa, Jack saved my life. Wasn't he splendid?"
"My dear boy," cried Mr. Nason, as he grasped Jack's head, "you
saved my little girl and I shall never forget it. It was a very brave
act."

CHAPTER XVIII.
BOB AND JACK GO ON A HUNT.
"Say, Jack, I've got an idea," said Bob that night after they were in
bed.
"All right, fire ahead, I'm listening. You do say something sensible
once in a while and I'm willing to take a chance."
"Well, I believe we could find that house where I was shut up."
"Think so?" asked Jack, full of interest now.
"Of course I'm not sure, but I recognized a house not more than
seven or eight miles from it, and if we go there on the wheels, we
could search the country pretty well in a short time. Let's try it
tomorrow. What do you say?"
"I say yes, that is, if father will let us, and what's more, we'll find it,
too, if they haven't lugged it off. We have to be mighty careful
though, for those fellows may be in hiding there."
At the breakfast table, the next morning, Bob announced their plan,
but Mr. Golden shook his head.
"I'm afraid you'll get into trouble," he declared.
"But," argued Jack, "we ought to do something toward finding those
fellows and, if we can locate the house, we can have it searched by
officers and have them nabbed if they are there."

Mr. Golden finally consented, but made them promise that they
would be very careful and not run any risks. Getting the cook to put
them up a good lunch, they were soon ready to start.
"That house," explained Bob, as they rode along side by side, "can't
be many miles this side of Oakland. We'll go to Waterville first and
then cross over to Oakland, then we'll take the road to Norridgewock
and look for that woods road. I suppose we might go by the way of
Norridgewock. It would be shorter, but I guess the roads are better
the other way."
The road to Skowhegan was rough and mostly down hill, and they
did not dare to run very fast, but once outside the latter town, on
the road to Waterville, they let the machines out and reached the
city in forty-five minutes from the time they left home. As they rode
through the city, people stared in amazement at them as they failed
to hear the customary chug-chug of the engine.
They made no stop and were soon in Oakland, a little village about
three miles to the west of Waterville. Here they stopped at a drug
store for a glass of soda water, as the ride had made them thirsty.
When they came out, they found that several people had collected
and were examining the wheels.
"Say, bub, what kind of an engine you got here?" asked one man.
Now neither of the boys liked being called "bub," but they had been
taught to be polite, and Jack explained that it was an electric motor.
"Well—well, I want to know! How do you run it?"
"Oh, that's a secret," laughed Bob, as they got into the saddles and
rode off.
In about fifteen minutes they reached the house which Bob had
recognized, and turning to his brother, he said:
"Now, Jack, here's where our search begins. It can't be very far from
here and as it's only ten o'clock now, we've got several hours to

hunt."
"Wouldn't it be a good plan to inquire at the house and see if they
know anything about the place?"
"Not a bad idea," agreed Bob, getting off his wheel and running it
into the yard. Telling Jack, who had followed him, to hold the cycles
he knocked on the door. A slovenly looking woman answered the
knock, and when he explained their errand, she gave a sudden start
and said rather gruffly:
"No, I don't know of no such place," and shut the door in his face.
"I'll just bet my old hat that she does, all the same," declared Bob,
as he rejoined his brother, then as the latter agreed with him, he
added:
"I guess we better not make any more inquiries round here; some of
these people may be in league with those fellows."
Mounting, they proceeded and had gone only about a mile, when
they came to where the road forked.
"Any idea which is the right road?" asked Jack, as he stopped his
wheel and dismounted.
"Not an idea. Guess we'll flip a penny. Heads to the right, tails to the
left, here goes."
Heads it was, so they started off to the right. It was a fairly smooth
road, so they made pretty good speed for about three miles, when
Bob said:
"Now we'd better slow up a little and begin to look carefully. If we're
on the right track that road can't be a great ways from here, and it
may be nearer than I think."
"Do you know which side of the road it is?"

"Yes, it's to our right. Now let's ride on slowly and keep our eyes
peeled."
Much of the way was through thick woods, and as they rode slowly
along, they closely scanned the woods to their right, watching for a
woods road. They had gone on in this way for several miles, when
suddenly, they came out of a thick piece of woods. So far, they had
seen nothing that in anyway resembled what they were after, but,
about a mile farther on, Jack spied a rough road leading through a
field to the right.
"Suppose that's it?" he asked, bringing his wheel to a stop.
"No, that can't be it, because I'm sure that it was in the woods, for I
remember hearing the branches hit the top of the car all the way
along till we got out where we turned into the main road, and
another thing, I remember just before we turned, the car giving a
terrific lurch as though we had crossed a good-sized gully beside the
road, and you see, there's no such place here. No, this is not the
road and we might as well go on."
They rode on for several miles, part of the time passing through
woods, when they went slowly, and again through the open, where
they speeded up. Finally, about eleven-thirty, Bob stopped his wheel
and said:
"I guess we've taken the wrong road and might as well go back and
try the other one."
To this Jack agreed, and by the time they reached the forks of the
road, it was noon, and as they saw a small spring near the roadside,
they decided to eat their lunch before going on. They had just
finished, when they saw a farmer, followed by a huge mastiff,
coming toward them.
"Gee, Bob, just look at the size of that dog, will you?"
"He sure is some dog all right," replied Bob. "I wouldn't want to
meet him when he wasn't feeling in a good humor."

By this time the man was within speaking distance.
"Say, young fellers, what yer want round here?" he asked in a harsh
tone, while his manner was most offensive.
"Why," asked Bob, pleasantly, "do you own this road?"
"Now don't you get gay with me, young feller."
"No one's getting gay; you asked me a question and I asked you
one. Now, as you asked yours first, I'll answer it and then you can
do as you please about answering mine, but I think we have a right
here in the public road without being growled at. Now then, we are
taking a ride on our wheels seeing the country."
The farmer looked rather uneasy while Bob was talking.
"Huh, mebby so, but yer the fellers what stopped at my house down
the road here a bit, 'bout two hours ago, and was asking the old
woman something about a house what was hid in the woods, hain't
yer?"
"Yes, we did stop and make an inquiry," replied Bob. "Anything
wrong about that?"
"Mebby not, only they hain't any sech place round here and yer
needn't go to hunting for any."
"Well," asked Jack, laughing slightly, "if there's no such place
where's the harm in our looking for it?"
The farmer perceived that he had made a slip, and grumbling
something about fool kids poking their noses round where they had
no business, he started off up the road to the right, the dog
following close behind.
"Well, well, the plot thickens, as the hero says in the play. Jack, that
man knows something about that place, and what's more, he don't
want us to know anything about it."

CHAPTER XIX.
THEY FIND THE HOUSE BUT LOSE A CAP.
As soon as the farmer disappeared, the boys started off once more,
taking the left-hand road. After riding five or six miles, they entered
a thick woods and about a half a mile farther on they came to a
bridge, leading over a small, shallow stream. This bridge had been
newly repaired as they could see that the plank flooring had been
but little used.
"By jimminy, but I believe we're getting warm now," cried Bob, as he
stopped his wheel on the bridge. "See where the road leads down
through the brook there?"
"Yes," replied Jack leaning over the rail. "They must have crossed
that way while the bridge was being fixed. But what of it?"
"Just this of it. I remember that just a few minutes after we turned
into the main road that night, the machine suddenly stopped and
then turned down a very rough, steep place just like this, and after
going a few feet, came back into the road again, and I'll bet my cap
that this is the place. Funny I didn't think of it before, for this bridge
brought it to my mind. They hadn't taken the blindfold off then, so,
of course, I couldn't see anything, but, this is the place sure as guns,
and that road can't be more than a mile off."
"Well, come on," urged Jack, impatiently, as he mounted his wheel,
"we'll soon find it if you're right."

They rode on slowly, closely watching the right-hand side of the road
and had not gone quite a mile when Jack's keen eyes spied a slight
break in the thick trees.
"Hurrah!" he called, "here's something that looks promising"; and
then as Bob came up, "there's your woods road and there's your
gully."
"I believe you're right, now what had we better do?"
"How far do you think the house is from the road?"
"Not more than a third of a mile I should say. Now I don't think we'd
better take the wheels in there, because the road is so rough that if
we should have to make a quick getaway, we could go much faster
without them."
"Then let's hide them in the bushes and hoof it," proposed Jack.
"I kinder hate to leave them, but I guess it's the best way out. Come
on."
They led the motorcycles along the woods road for perhaps a dozen
yards and then turned off into the thick wood to the left, and after
pushing along about two rods, Bob suddenly said:
"There's just the place, right by that birch tree. The bushes in front
there are so thick that no one can see them."
Pushing on they carefully hid them there and then turned back to
the road.
"I don't think we'd better follow the road," advised Bob, "for we
might meet some one. Let's go parallel to it, but through the woods
a little to the left." This they did and had gone about a quarter of a
mile when Jack whispered:
"Say Bob, do you know we left the caps on the wheels?"
"Gracious, that's so; think we'd better go back and get them?"

"Oh, I guess they'll be all right; we must be most there now. Let's
risk it."
So they pushed on, and had gone but a little farther, when Bob,
peering through the trees, saw an opening in the woods, and a
moment later a low two-story log house, standing on the farther
edge, was visible. Jack was a few feet behind and, placing his finger
on his lips, Bob motioned him to come on.
"That the place, sure as guns," he whispered, "Right out in front
here is where I had that fight with Reed."
"Guess you're right, but I don't see any signs of life there, do you?"
"No, but we'll camp down here a while and watch."
Bob had hardly spoken, when they heard a low growl a little to their
left.
"Goodness, there's a dog," whispered Jack, and the next moment a
huge mastiff, similar to the one they had seen with the farmer,
sprang toward them.
"Quick, Bob, your pistol," gasped Jack.
The boys always carried water pistols, loaded with strong ammonia
water, when they went off on their motorcycles, and now they were
to stand them in good stead. As Jack spoke, he jumped back,
reaching for his pistol, which he carried in his back pocket, but
before he could get it out the dog was upon him. Quickly thrusting
forward his left arm, the dog caught him by the elbow, but the stout
canvas, of which their jackets were made, prevented the sharp teeth
from going through. By this time, Bob had his pistol out, and
stepping forward, he shot the contents fairly into the face of the
enraged beast. He let go his hold and with a loud yelp of pain,
sprang backward, and began wildly clawing the dirt and leaves.
"Did he bite you, Jack?" asked Bob anxiously.

"Nope, nary a bite, you were too quick for him. But I think we'd
better hike out of here. If there's anybody in that house, they must
have heard that howl, and will likely investigate."
"That's right, you know we promised mother not to run any risks;
come on."
Hastily they began to retrace their steps, but as there were no signs
of pursuit, they soon slowed up a little.
"Don't believe there was a soul there," panted Jack, "but we found
the house and that's one good job done anyhow, and I guess we'd
better be content with that for today, but I would have liked to take
a peep in that house."
By this time, they were in sight of the tree where they had left the
wheels, but, when they hurried forward to drag them out, to their
great consternation, no wheels were there.
"Jerusalem!" gasped Bob, "they're gone!"
"Well, what do you know about that?" echoed Jack. "If this isn't a
pretty kettle of fish! Are you sure this was the place?"
"'Course it is. Here's the big birch tree and you can see where the
bushes are trampled down. Oh, if we'd only taken those caps with
us! But come on, we mustn't stand here doing nothing. We've got to
get those wheels back, and let's hurry out to the road and see if we
can see anything of them."
As they hurried along, Bob continued, "If King or Reed spotted us I
guess it's all up, but it may be that some country lout saw us leave
'em there and has swiped 'em. If that's the case, we may get 'em
back."
"We'll do our best anyhow," panted Jack, as they raced along.
They soon reached the main road, and quickly looked both ways, but
nothing of the wheels was to be seen.

For a moment the two boys looked at each other in helpless despair,
then Jack, casting his eyes on the ground, said:
"Here, quick, Bob, see here's their tracks."
Sure enough, in the dusty road the tracks of two wheels, leading in
the direction from which they had come, were plainly visible.
"See, here's our tracks on this side of the road and there's the
others," and a second later he added, "There's only one fellow; see
where he walked between 'em."
"Right you are, Sherlock," shouted Bob, "come on now, on the run."
They set off at a rapid pace, their hopes away up. They ran nearly
two miles, both being in good training, before they saw any one,
then as they rounded a turn, they saw the object of their pursuit,
walking rapidly about two hundred yards ahead of them, between
the two wheels.
"Come on now as fast as you can leg it," said Bob, "Let's get as near
him as we can before he sees us."
They were within two hundred feet of the thief, when he turned and
saw them.
"Hey, you, drop those wheels!" shouted Jack.
The man hesitated a minute and then dropped the wheels on the
road and, springing to one side, started off across a field at the top
of his speed. In another minute they had reached the wheels, and
with a cry of joy, Jack grabbed his up saying:
"Guess we're in luck again." But the next moment his spirits were
dashed, when Bob suddenly cried:
"Look, Jack, he's taken one of my caps." Then, before Jack could
speak, he said: "You look out for this wheel, I'm going after that
chap."

The man by this time was some distance away and running as fast
as he could go, but Bob remembered that a little farther along a
road branched off to the left, and hoping to cut him off, he jumped
on Jack's wheel and fairly flew down the road in a cloud of dust.
Coming to the branch road he turned and had ridden but a short
distance when he saw the man climbing a fence, beside the road,
just a little ahead. So quietly did the wheel run that Bob was nearly
upon him before he was aware of his presence. He was a tall fellow,
about twenty years old, dressed in overalls. Seeing that Bob was
alone, he made no further attempt to escape, but stood in the
middle of the road panting, as Bob came up.
Stopping the wheel and jumping off, he demanded:
"See here, what do you mean by taking our wheels?"
"Huh, don't yer wish yer knew? What yer going ter do about it
anyhow?" he asked with a sneer.
"Well," replied Bob slowly, "you've taken a cap off one of the
machines and if you give it to me at once, there'll be no trouble, but
if you don't, why I'll just naturally have to take it away from you,
sonny."
The tall youth laughed loudly, then stepping closer to Bob, shook his
fist in his face, saying:
"I'm not saying I got the cap, but, if you think I have, mebby you'd
better pitch in right now 'fore you forgit it."
Bob knew that the country youth was much stronger than he, as he
was all of thirty pounds heavier, but he had taken several lessons in
wrestling and boxing, and also was familiar with a number of the
holds of the Japanese which had been taught him by a Jap friend.
He therefore felt confident of his ability to handle the country boy,
unless he had a similar training, which he doubted.
"Won't give it to me then?" asked Bob.

"Give yer nothing," the farmer boy started to answer, but before he
had time to finish, Bob had made a rush and grabbed him round the
waist.
"Easy now or you'll be apt to get hurt," he said, as he clasped his
arms round Bob's shoulders.
This was exactly what Bob wanted, and giving a sudden twist to his
body, he exerted all his strength, and threw the fellow fairly over his
head. He came down with a heavy thud and was probably more
surprised than he had ever been before in his life. He was not hurt,
however, and quickly jumping to his feet, he made a wild rush for
Bob, shouting:
"I'll fix you for that, you blamed dude."
He was more careful this time, however, and for two or three
minutes they sparred, neither being able to strike a decisive blow.
Bob found that the fellow was by no means ignorant of the art of
boxing, as he soon got a blow on the nose, which made it bleed
freely, but as one of his opponent's eyes were closed, he felt that he
was at least holding his own.
"Blame yer, I'll get yer now," and the fellow aimed a powerful blow
at Bob's head. If he had landed, his words would undoubtedly have
come true, but Bob jumped nimbly to one side, and the country boy
nearly fell forward from the impetus of his blow. Bob saw his chance,
and quickly jumping forward, he grabbed him round the neck and,
getting his knee in the small of his back, he pulled his head
backward, a trick he had learned from the Jap.
"Gosh amighty, yer breaking my neck," gasped the fellow, now
absolutely helpless, and the more he struggled, the more Bob's grip
hurt.
Bob knew that he had him at his mercy, and freeing one arm, while
he held him tightly with the other, he reached into the pocket of his
overalls, and to his joy, pulled out the stolen cap. But his troubles

were not yet over, for just then he heard the sound of rapidly
approaching steps, and turning, he saw the farmer, who had
questioned them that noon coming towards them on the run and
only about one hundred feet away.

CHAPTER XX.
BOB AND JACK RETURN FROM THE HUNT.
As Bob saw the farmer coming, he had to do some pretty quick
thinking, for it was evident that he was hostile to him for some
unknown reason, and he did not intend to fall into his power if he
could help it. Fortunately, he had left his motorcycle standing in the
road, about ten feet away in the opposite direction from which the
farmer was approaching. Giving the man he was holding a powerful
shove, which sent him sprawling into the ditch by the roadside, he
made a quick rush for the wheel, snapped up the rest and, giving
the handle a slight turn, vaulted into the saddle. But he was just a
fraction of a second too late, for as he started off, the farmer caught
him by the coat tail. He had presence of mind to turn off the power
before the wheel fell over sideways, and springing to the side, stood
facing the farmer.
"Now, you young cub, what does all this mean?"
Bob had a habit of acting on the impulse of the moment, and before
the farmer had time to put up his hands, biff! he was lying on his
back in the middle of the road. By this time the younger man had
picked himself from the gutter, and hastily running forward, bent
over the fallen man, who Bob thought was probably his father.
"I'll have the law on yer for this," he shouted. "I guess yer've killed
him."
"Will, eh?" said Bob, stepping forward.

His fighting blood was now at red heat, and he felt able to fight a
dozen men. "Well, if you feel like taking the law into your hands,
come on, and I'll give you one of the most interesting little picnics
you ever saw. I was only playing before."
But he had evidently had enough, for he made no move toward
reopening hostilities.
"All right then, guess I'll be going. By the way, your father'll come
round all right in a minute. I didn't hit him very hard."
Just then the farmer gave a groan and opened his eyes, saying
feebly:
"Laws amighty, did a mule kick me?"
Bob waited no longer, but, picking up his wheel, rode off
unmolested. Just as he reached the corner where the road joined
the main highway, he met Jack trudging along pushing his wheel.
"Well, old man," he shouted, "How'd you make out? Did you get it?"
"Did I get it?" repeated Bob, reaching his hand in his pocket, and
pulling out the cap. "What do you say to this?"
"I say it's great luck."
"You may think so, but quite considerable of a fight had a good deal
to do with it. Look at my nose. But," he laughed, "you ought to see
the other fellow."
By this time he had screwed the cap in place.
"Come on," he said, "let's ride back a little way. Something back here
I want to show you."
"What is it?" asked Jack as they mounted and started back.
"Oh, nothing much, only the road jumped up and hit a fellow on the
back of the head a few minutes ago and I want to see how he's

getting along. There are two of them, but I don't think there's much
fight left in either."
He explained what had happened, as they rode along, and as he
finished, they came in sight of Bob's late antagonists. The older man
was just staggering to his feet, and riding up to within about twenty
feet, Bob said pleasantly:
"Came round all right, did he?"
He turned and let out such a string of oaths as the boys had never
before heard. When he stopped for lack of breath, Bob said:
"If that's the way you feel about it, I guess the less said the better,
and we'll bid you good night. Come on, Jack."
They turned and rode slowly away turning their heads just in time to
see both men shaking their fists at them.
"Well, that chapter is ended," remarked Jack, as they rode off.
"Wonder what the next one will be like. We've certainly had some
excitement since we made those cells."
"That's so," agreed Bob, looking at his watch. "It's after three now,
and we'd better make tracks for home. You know mother will begin
to worry about four o'clock if we're not there."
The road to Skowhegan, five miles down the Kennebec, was very
sandy, and it was impossible for them to make good time. It was
four-fifteen when they crossed the bridge in Skowhegan, but they
made up for lost time on the run up to the lake and reached the
cottage just as the clock was striking four-thirty.
All the folks were on the porch, including their father and Uncle Ben,
who had come up from town in the car, a short time before. The
story of the day's adventures was soon told, and Mr. Golden declared
that on the morrow they would get some officers and visit the log
house in the woods.

"Well, I declare!" said May. "You two boys do beat all when it comes
to getting into scrapes and getting out of them again. It must be lots
of fun. Wish I was a boy."
"That's all right as long as you do get out all right," remarked Jack a
little dryly, "but there wouldn't have been so much fun to some of
the messes we've been in lately if they hadn't turned out as they
did. Please excuse me."
"Come on, Bob," shouted Jack, "that lake looks good to me. We've
got just time for a good swim before supper."
The girls both declared it would be just the thing, and all four rushed
into the house and upstairs, to reappear in an incredibly short time
clad in bathing suits. The girls could both swim nearly as well as the
boys, and soon they were having a splendid time in the clear water
of the lake. They swam and dived, ducking each other whenever
opportunity offered, until Mrs. Golden called that it was time to get
dressed for supper.
The next morning, while they were at breakfast, the telephone rang
and Mr. Golden went into the front room to answer it.
"What's that you say?" they heard him ask, "Mercy, is that so? I'll
come right down, be there in less than a half hour."
When he returned to the dining room, his face was pale and his
voice trembled, as he said:
"Bob, get the car out as soon as possible; the bank has been
robbed."
"Robbed!" cried Mrs. Golden, as they all sprang to their feet. "How
much did they get?"
"I don't know, I don't suppose they can tell yet, but Riggs said it was
a large amount."

By this time the boys were at the garage, only a short distance from
the house, and shouting to Sandy, the chauffeur, had the car out by
the time their father and Uncle Ben were ready.
"Can we go?" asked Bob.
"Why, yes, I suppose so, but you'll get there sooner if you take your
wheels. You coming, Ben?"
"Guess I will," replied the latter, and telling the women that they
would 'phone as soon as they could, they were off, the boys leading
the way on the motorcycles.

CHAPTER XXI.
BOB AND JACK THINK THEY HAVE A CLUE.
The First National Bank of Skowhegan, of which Mr. Golden was
president, is situated on Water street. Behind it runs the Kennebec
river through a rock gorge, nearly fifty feet deep. At the time of our
story, the bank building was new, having been built only the year
before. It was thoroughly modern in every respect, and contained
what was supposed to be a burglar-proof vault.
The boys soon distanced the car and in exactly eleven minutes from
the time they started were in front of the bank. They found a crowd
of several hundred people collected in the street, for such a thing as
a bank robbery in Skowhegan had never been known, and there was
great excitement. Hurriedly, they pushed the wheels into a livery
stable nearby, which was run by a friend of theirs, and then pushing
their way through the crowd, managed to reach the sidewalk, in
front of the bank, but here the people were so closely packed, that
they were forced to stop.
"Guess we'll have to wait for dad," panted Jack, after a vigorous
shove had failed to make an opening.
"Gee, but this is worse than a football game," declared Bob, "but
here's dad now," as a big policeman pushed his way through the
crowd shouting:
"Stand back now and let Mr. Golden through."

The mass of people slowly gave way, and Mr. Golden, followed
closely by Bob and Jack, who had grabbed hold of his coat tails as
he pushed his way past, finally succeeded in reaching the steps of
the bank. The door was at once opened by Mr. Riggs, the old
cashier, and Mr. Golden and Uncle Ben, who was with them, entered
closely followed by the two boys.
"Oh, to think that I should live to see this day!" moaned the cashier,
as he closed and locked the door behind them.
"How did they get in?" was Mr. Golden's first question.
The cashier pointed to the door and a glance was sufficient to
disclose the means of entrance. Two doors, separated by a small
vestibule, led into the bank. The outer door was fitted with a heavy
plate glass window, but the inner one was of solid oak. This had
been cut through by means of a bit, and a hole about twenty inches
in diameter sawed out. A similar opening had been made in the
glass of the outer door, a circular piece having been cut out,
evidently with a diamond, and then, cemented back in again so
cleverly, that it was not noticeable except on close inspection.
Going to the vault at the rear of the bank, they found an irregular
hole, nearly sixteen inches in diameter, through the solid steel door.
The edges of this hole had a fused appearance, and Mr. Golden at
once said:
"Undoubtedly the work of experts, and they must have used an oxy-
acteylene blowpipe flame to cut through that door."
Bob had been doing some pretty deep thinking, and now he caught
hold of his father's sleeve and said:
"Of course, I may be a way off, but I believe that those fellows who
kidnapped me are the ones who did this job."
"I think so, too," broke in Jack, "We know that they are criminals
and what were they doing round here if they weren't up to some
such job? You see," he continued, as his father was about to speak,

"they didn't come here after those cells, because they didn't know
anything about them till they saw the boat the day of the race. I
believe they intended to rob the bank in the first place and then they
saw our boat and thought that if they could get hold of our secret, it
would pay them better than this job. That's the way I've got it doped
out."
"And I believe Jack's right, dad," broke in Bob. "Something I heard
that man Reed say just after they got me in the car that night has
just come to me. I didn't think much of it at the time; it has never
occurred to me till just now."
"What was it?" eagerly asked Mr. Golden.
"Why, we had gone but a little ways when I heard Reed say, in a low
voice. 'How about that other job, Bill?' and King replied angrily, 'Shut
up, you fool!' Then as Reed started to say something, he whispered,
'That can wait awhile; it won't spoil.'"
"I really believe the boys are right," declared Uncle Ben. "There is
little doubt in my mind that when you get those two men you will
have the robbers of this bank."
"I'll tell you what," broke in Bob, "if those two fellows did it, I'll bet a
cent they'll go straight to the place where they took me, that we
found yesterday. You see they think no one knows about it and that
they will be safe there."
"Then we'd better get some officers and get after them as quickly as
possible," declared Uncle Ben.
"I guess we might as well try it," assented Mr. Golden, "seeing it's
the only clue we have. Mr. Riggs, see if Mr. Switzer is out there and if
he is, have him come in, will you?"
The cashier disappeared, but was back almost immediately, followed
by a powerfully built man about forty years old, the chief of police of
Skowhegan.

"Hello, Switzer, glad you were at hand," cried Mr. Golden.
"Just got here," panted the officer, who appeared nearly out of
breath. "I went over to Smithfield fishing early this morning and
didn't know about it till I got there, and then I hustled back as fast
as I could."
It may be well to explain here, that Skowhegan does not have a
regular police force who give all their time to it. Mr. Switzer, besides
being chief, was a butcher, and the rest of the force, consisting of
five men, held different positions in the town.
Mr. Golden quickly pointed out what has been described, and then
told him of Bob's suspicion.
"Just the thing to do," he declared. "George and Fred are outside
and I'll get them and we'll start at once."
"We'll go in my car," said Mr. Golden. "I guess it's as fast as any in
town, and will carry six of us all right, and the boys can go on their
wheels, can't you, Bob?"
"Sure thing," the both replied.
"All right then, that's settled. Now let's get off as soon as possible.
My car is right over there on the corner."
They went out and Mr. Golden and Uncle Ben at once made their
way to the car, while Mr. Switzer searched through the crowd for his
officers. Bob and Jack hurried to where they had left their wheels
and were back at the corner in almost no time, where they were
soon joined by the three officers.
"Now, where to?" asked the chief, as he took his seat by the driver.
"Norridgewock first," answered Bob, as he jumped into his saddle,
and he added, as he turned on the power, "here's where we break
all the speed laws ever made."

"You boys keep within sight of us," shouted Mr. Golden, as they
dashed across the bridge.
In spite of the bad road, they reached Norridgewock in nineteen
minutes. On the way, Mr. Golden told Uncle Ben and the officers that
Riggs had said that nearly one hundred thousand dollars in cash and
negotiable securities had been taken.
They made no stop at Norridgewock, but at once took the road
leading to Oakland. Here the going was much better and in a little
less than half an hour after leaving Norridgewock, they were within
a mile of the woods road, which led to the big house. The boys were
about a quarter of a mile ahead of the car and stopped here to wait
for the rest of the party.
"Are we 'most there?" asked Mr. Golden, as the car came up to them
and stopped.
"Yes, it's only about a mile from here, and I thought we'd better stop
before we got any nearer, and make our plans," explained Bob.
"My idea," said Mr. Switzer, "is to leave the car by the side of the
main road and go the rest of the way on foot. You see," he
explained, "if we took it too close they would hear it and skip, that
is, providing they're there."
All agreed that this was the best plan.
"Now, Bob," asked the chief, "how far from the main road is that
house?"
"I should say a little more than a quarter of a mile."
"And how large is the clearing round it?"
"At the back the trees grow up close to the house, but in front there
is a clearing of perhaps half an acre."
"Then, three of us had better get round to the back of the house,
while the rest approach it from the front. George, you and Bob and

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Brain Landscape The Coexistence Of Neuroscience And Architecture 1st Edition John P Eberhard

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